


Duloc is a Perfect Place

by CongressIsAliens



Category: Shrek The Musical - Tesori/Lindsay-Abaire
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Character Development, Coming Out, Crack, Crack Taken Seriously, Duloc, Farquaad's Redemption Arc, Fluff, Fuck the Canon, GAY FARQUAAD GAY FARQUAAD GAY FARQUAAD, Gay, Gay Panic, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Merry Men - Freeform, Musicals, OOC (ish), Past Child Abuse, Refrenced Child Abuse, The only fic with Farquaad MC that takes itself seriously, This got long, also had to figure out democracy shit to write this, and really character development-y, and weird, but here its decent advice, but its real life, farquaads Tragic BackstoryTM, flower symbolism, inspired by my high school doing shrek the musical, like i said this got weird, look man idk, more so than I planned, not so merry men, not so subtle refrences to the musical, ok so imagine the musical, semi-seriously anyway, subtle refrences to the musical, thats fun, thats this world, tragic backstory, usually I wouldnt trust the pit orchestra, with the pit orchestra!, wow that's a lot of tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-27 00:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20939549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CongressIsAliens/pseuds/CongressIsAliens
Summary: Welcome to Duloc, such a perfect townHere we have some rules, let us lay them downDon't make waves, stay in lineAnd we'll get along fineDuloc is a perfect placePlease keep off the grassShine your shoes, wipe your...faceDuloc is, Duloc isDuloc is a perfect place.Alternate titles:Farquaad's Gay Panic Fucks Shit Up: In this essay I willpure crack cocaineEmotionsTMSorry Ash





	Duloc is a Perfect Place

**Author's Note:**

> Highly recommend that you know the songs (or at least have listened to them before) because otherwise a whole lot of this will be utterly confusing. My recommendation would be listen to them before you read instead of reading along with the song, because they go fast. 
> 
> Oh by the way I thought this would be just a simple oneshot (under 1k). Now it's this. What have I done. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=akoU7DmEOSY
> 
> (that's Welcome to Duloc, the first song)
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C20CjvnrR-U
> 
> (that's Who I'd Be, the second one, technically only Shrek, Fiona and Donkey sing it, but we're all about adding to canon here)
> 
> I'm not exactly satisfied with this, but I just needed it to be finished and posted. So here it is.
> 
> (06/2020 Update: Everything else has gone to sh*t, might as well take this off anon.)

"Duloc is, Duloc is, Duloc is a perfect pla-ace!" The dancers finish cheerfully, smiling broadly. A piccolo flourish finishes the phrase. The spotlight focuses on one single dancer, front and center.

"And here's the man that made it happen!" The girl delivers her lines with gusto. "That towering colossus of moxie! Lo-ord Farquaad!" 

Lord Maximus Farquaad ascends the stairs of his main tower. His wonderful Duloc Dancers are facing him and his wonderfully tall castle, gently dancing to the beat.

"Oh, it's you! What a terrific surprise." Of course it's not. Every day at noon, right on the dot, Farquaad's song and dance. It's barely changed in the past year and a half, it won't now. It's utterly too bad there's no one new to impress. Except…

One of the Dancers catches his eye. A man slightly shorter than the rest, gazing up at Farquaad with sheer admiration. His face just screams new guy. 

Now, Farquaad's no fool. He knew that the dancers all feel lukewarm at best about him, even the new ones. Unfortunately, better dancers are nowhere to be found. 

The exception seems to be this man, staring up at Farquaad with a barely-contained grin on his face. Farquaad can't help but grin back in his own cocky way. Jazzy music starts up from somewhere below. 

"Once upon a time this place was infested. Freaks on every corner, I had them all arrested," Farquaad sings, carefully enunciating each word. "Hey, nonny, nonny, nonny, no...If you had a quirk, you didn't pass inspection. We all have our standards but I will have perfection!"

He descends the stairs of the castle, ready to join his loyal star dancers, singing merrily "And so, and so..."

Bright music accompanies his words as he exits the royal tower. "Things are looking up here in Duloc."

"Just take a look!" his dancers chime in. Xylophone merrily accompanies their words. 

"The things I'm cooking up here in Duloc."

"He likes to cook!"

He catches the eye again of the newcomer. He looks so bright and cheerful and just happy to be there. 

"A model that amazes, a plan with seven phases..." Farquaad sings out. 

"Bum bum bum bum bummm." The dancers sing, flourishing his blue cape in time with a trumpet flare. 

Farquaad catches the new dancer's eye again. What keeps bringing him back to this one man? He's incredibly attractive, like all the Dulocian men, but something stands out about him. 

"Things are looking up here in Duloc."

"They're looking up!" Two dancers lift a third up over his head. 

"In Duloc."

"The ladies all look swell"- and it's true, they all are beautiful in a stereotypical way. Even the princesses he chose from are pretty, although Farquaad feels nothing like love towards any of them. He just picked Fiona really at random. He’s got to marry a princess either way, it’s not like he’s got a choice. 

The men are so dashing"-however, Farquaad's only noticed the men of Duloc. He shouldn't. He needs a princess to marry to become a king. Another rumor of him loving princes would kill his reputation. Not like those rumors are based in fact. It wasn't just fairy tale creatures that he banished, after all. 

"Thanks to my new dress code the fashion's never clashing"- yes, the dress code was the best change he's made in a long time. Nothing quite goes together like red and blue. 

"Hey nonny nonny nonny no...This castle I had built is taller than the clifftops, a city like a postcard, a monorail and gift shops," Farquaad loves to brag about all he's done for Duloc. How he's transformed it into a place of absolute wonder instead of the crazy heap of non-conforming garbage it once was. 

"And so," he sings. 

"And so," the dancers echo. 

"And so."

"And so." 

"And so-oo," he belts, "No one from the gutter in Duloc." 

"He's takin' aim!"

"Embrace the cookie cutter in Duloc."

"We're all the same!"

"The upshot is enormous when you can shout..."

"Conform us!"

"Yes! Things are looking up...here in Duloc. Hey, let's hear it for these Duloc dancers! Aren't they terrific?" Again, the musicians strike up a jazzy tune. The dancers strike pose after pose in perfect time. Farquaad dances along, cheering. 

Still the one new guy just keeps catching his eye. It almost feels like Farquaad's cheering just for him. 

But what makes him so different? He's just new and smiley. That's it. That's all. Nothing else.

"There's no sign of slowing, we're growing, we're growing!"

"Look, he's growing and growing and growing...Look at him grow!" The dancers squat, kneel, then almost lay down to give the illusion that Farquaad is becoming taller. Farquaad grins. If only he were taller. Ah, blame the gene pool. 

"Things are looking up here."

"We practiced this part both forward and back, we make one mistake and we get the rack," quietly, the dancers sing the only line Farquaad allowed them to edit. It's not untrue. Farquaad loves himself some torture, and sloppy dancers are the perfect target. 

"Things I'm cooking up here."

"He taught us to dance with razzmatazz, we’re trained in ballet, flamenco and jazz," and yes, every dancer must master all three before they're even considered for an audition. Farquaad is a stickler for perfection. 

"My hard work and my rigor have made me so much bigger!" Ascending accented notes pile up to a single glockenspiel ding at the top. "Things are looking up!"

"Things are looking up!" The dancers echo.

"Things are looking up here in Duloc!" Farquaad sings as he jumps across the dancer's backs. "Here in Duloc!"

"Up, up up up up!" the dancers finish with a final flourish. Farquaad gestures to the side. 

"And now, good people of Duloc, the moment you've all been waiting for!" Farquaad exclaims. Two dancers bring on a raffle drum packed with names. "The raffle drawing to determine who will have the honor of setting forth to rescue the Princess Fiona from the fiery keep of the dragon! Spin! That! Barrel!" 

"Excuse me." a rough voice interrupts. Turning, every performer and Farquaad sees the hulking form of an ogre standing at the castle gate. The dancers turn and run, screaming and going every which way. The new dancer runs right into Farquaad, knocking him over. 

"Um...hello there." Farquaad says. 

"Um..." the dancer says. Oh, how awkward is this. The new guy tripped and fell over the boss man. New guy (Farquaad makes a mental note to learn his name) is kind of laying on top of Farquaad too. How entirely awkward.

Is he blushing? Is the great Lord Maximus Farquaad blushing? For another man? It can't be so. But it is. 

"Sorry!" The dancer squeaks, getting up and running off the stage, leaving Farquaad thoroughly confused.

"Hey, are you Lord Farquaad?" the ogre asks, snapping Farquaad right back to the problem at hand. 

"...Maybe. Does the name strike fear in your heart?" Farquaad gets up, dusting himself off. 

"No, but that little hat does." Pfft. Farquaad's hat is magnificent. That ogre doesn't know anything about fashion. 

"Who let this thing in here?" Farquaad calls in the general direction of his guards. 

"Look, I'll be out of your silky hair as soon as you give me my swamp back.”

"Your swamp?" Farquaad had no idea the stinking place was inhabited.

"Yes, where you dumped those fairy-tale creatures." Ah, there. There had been rumors that an ogre lived there, but Farquaad thought that it wouldn't mind. 

"News flash, ogre, that oozing mud pit is actually within the province of Duloc, therefore under my jurisdiction."

"Now look here, half-pint.”

"Wait a minute." Farquaad gets a wonderful idea. "Wait a minute. Oh, this is too perfect."

"What is?"

"You! You're big and hulking and wonderfully expendable." He turns towards his people, who are beginning to emerge. "People of Duloc, we have a winner! Congratulations, ogre. You've won the honor of embarking on a great and noble quest!"

"But we're already on a quest." Great. A talking donkey. If he didn't have to Febreeze the whole courtyard already, he does now.

"To get my swamp back!" Ogres and their swamps. Ugh. 

"Yes, and you've nearly accomplished it. All you need to do is one more simple little task and I'll hand over the deed to your swamp."

"And what exactly is this little task?"

"There's just this package that I need picked up." He's technically not lying. "Miss Duloc, fill them in and show them out!" The star dancer of the Duloc troupe picks up the dossier and shows out the duo. The music starts up the brisk lively tune again. 

Farquaad panics before realizing he has to sing again. Quickly making a few lyric changes, he sings, "My people, your queen is on her way! Things are looking up," accompanied by difficult xylophone and piccolo runs. 

"Things are looking up!" the dancers echo. 

"Things are looking up here in Duloc!" Farquaad sings with a flourish of his cape, turning and ascending his castle tower. 

"And no one's gonna bring! me! down!" Farquaad sings before absolutely nailing his impossibly high notes. It’s not often that he gets it quite that perfect. 

His dancers applaud politely and file into the castle for lunch. Farquaad also descends his tower stairs, ready to eat. 

The new dancer is standing at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for something or someone. He’s about a foot taller than Farquaad, with shiny golden hair, broad shoulders, and a smile still on his face. Farquaad can feel his face heat up. 

"Hello, my Lord." the man says. 

"Hello, um..."

"Sawyer. Sawyer Raines."

"Why are you here?"

"I wanted to apologize for earlier, my Lord."

"Please, call me Farquaad. "

"I am truly sorry for earlier, I didn't mean to bu-"

"It's okay," Farquaad cuts him off. "To tell you the truth, I would have run too.”

A suffocating silence descends over the pair. Farquaad fidgets with the edge of his cape. 

"Um..." The new guy (Sawyer, that’s his name) searches for words. “I...have to go press my uniform!” He turns and starts to scamper away. 

“Wait!” Farquaad cries before he can stop himself. Sawyer turns back. Crap. Why did he do that? Quick, think of something. “Um, would you meet me in the gardens after lunch? I’d, um, like to get to know you better.”  
  
“That sounds wonderful. I, um, really have to go…” Sawyer says, turning and rushing off again. 

Farquaad doesn’t even realize he’s let out a sigh until Thelonius pats him on the back. 

“You’ve got it bad, my lord.”

“Th-Thelonious! It’s not what you think, I swear!” Farquaad exclaims, panicking. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep your secret,” Thelonius says in his gruff voice, turning and leaving for the dungeon leaving Farquaad shocked.

“Maybe he knew what he was saying when he said I should pick number four,” Farquaad muses.

~~~ 

"You are an incredibly interesting man, Sawyer," Farquaad says, sitting on the garden bench. 

"I was under the impression I was quite average," Sawyer replies, sitting next to Farquaad. 

"Quite the opposite. I wish I could have done the things you did."

“Oh, of course, the whole growing-up-royal thing. You know, you can do anything you want now. You’re the king.”

“I’m not the king,” Farquaad whispers.

“What?” Sawyer asks. 

“I’m not the king. My mother gave up her throne to marry my father- and then she died.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. If I may ask, how did you get the kingdom?”

“I invaded.”

“...wouldn’t that still make you a king?”

“I’m technically not of royal descent, so I’m not a king. I don’t feel like one anyway.”

“You’re in charge of the kingdom, you make the laws, you live in the castle. Sounds like a king to me.”

“I...suppose you are right. I just don’t feel like a king. Once I marry the princess Fiona, though, it’ll be undisputable. I know I’ll be a true king.”

Sawyer falls silent for a long moment. The flowers of the garden sway in the calm breeze. Farquaad pulls a pair of garden shears from his belt and snips a pale pink carnation.

“You must quite enjoy gardening to be so careful with your flowers,” Sawyer says.

“I- yes, gardening is a pastime of mine, you could say.”

“Did you grow all these flowers?” Sawyer asks. 

“Most of them. The gardeners help take care, of course,” Farquaad says, spinning the flower in his fingers. “I think, if I did not rule Duloc, I would grow flowers for florists.”

Sawyer smiles. “When they told me about you, they always said you were a perfectionist, the one to be wary of, untouchable even. They never mentioned how human you are.”

“I think all of us are more human than we care to let others think.”

“That’s quite profound.” 

“Why, thank you.”

Farquaad doesn’t quite know what to do next, so he hands Sawyer the flower. 

Sawyer blushes furiously. A single second passes before Farquaad feels slightly chapped lips pressed softly against his, a hand gently coming to rest on his cheek. Farquaad’s eyes snap shut, subconsciously savoring the moment. Something sparks within him, making him want more. Somewhere, seconds or perhaps minutes pass, but all Farquaad can think about is the way Sawyer’s lips feel on his, the subtle taste of blackberries. Farquaad lets his hand drift to Sawyer’s, taking it gently in his grasp. 

Sawyer sharply pulls back, leaving Farquaad gasping for air. 

“I-I’m sorry, my lord, I’m sorry!” Sawyer trips over his words as he stands up, before turning and hurrying away. 

Farquaad can only watch as Sawyer all but runs off, left with only the breeze blowing over his lips and a single pale pink carnation sitting on the wooden bench. 

~~~

In his chambers, Farquaad fills a small vase with water and places the single carnation in it. 

_ Why then?  _ he thinks, pacing around the floor.  _ Why would he kiss me then?  _

His eyes come to rest on the flower. Pale pink carnation- there’s something special about that flower. There’s got to be. He knows, yet he can’t quite put his finger on it. Some symbolism he didn’t know? Wait- isn’t there a book just for this sort of thing in the library?

Farquaad dashes out the door of his quarters and down the hall, cape fluttering behind him and boot heels thumping on the marble floors. He can hear Thelonious’ heavy steps behind him.

The royal library is perhaps one of Duloc’s greatest achievements. Absolutely stuffed with books from floor to gargantuan ceiling, it holds all the knowledge of Duloc in a single place. Any Duloc citizen can submit a request at any time to use the library, and requests are nearly always granted.

Citizens are milling about the library when Farquaad enters. Making a beeline for the botany section, Farquaad almost collides with several.

The book he knows he wants is up in the tenth row. Pulling the ladder over, Farquaad cringes at the shrill screeching noise it makes. He makes a mental note to tell Maintenance to fix it. 

He climbs the ladder as fast as he can, reaching out to the shelf where the book he’s looking for is kept. 

It’s more ragged than he remembers, and there’s a stain on the cover. It’s still the same book though,  _ The Dulocian’s Guide to Flower Meanings _ , so there’s no true harm done. 

Farquaad descends the ladder and dashes over to one of the more private reading nooks, flipping pages as he runs.

Appendix II. Flowers by name. Carnation (Pink). Northern, Central, here we are. Eastern Duloc, page 241. Sawyer’s from Yikarsi, a town in Eastern Duloc, just barely inside the kingdom. 

_ The Carnation is a simple flower that has many unique meanings to Eastern Dulocians. Depending on the color...While in many kingdoms and indeed in Northern and Central Duloc the pink Carnation means gratitude, in Eastern Duloc the pink Carnation means admiration, especially in outer Eastern Duloc. The pink Carnation is taken as an admittance of love, as is tradition...Young men participate in courtship rituals, ending with the giving of a pink Carnation.  _

_ Pink Carnations should be given with care, especially if the giver does not know which part of Duloc the receiver is from.  _

Farquaad gently closes the book before slamming his head into it.

“Are you alright, my lord?” Thelonius asks. 

“no…” Farquaad groans. 

“If you don’t mind my asking, what happened?” 

Farquaad lifts his head. “I gave a pink carnation to an outer Eastern Dulocian.”

“I don’t follow, my lord.”

“Pink carnations- well, just read the passage here.” Farquaad opens the book to page 241 and hands it to Thelonious.

“Oh dear,” Thelonious says as he reads. “Oh dear, oh dear.” He hands the book back to Farquaad. “May I assume-”

“Not now,” Farquaad interrupts. “I’ll tell you later.” He gets up and walks to the ladder to put the book away. 

Another book catches his eye. 

_ Eastern Duloc Traditions _ .

~~~

The night is calm and quiet. Farquaad sits in his chambers, reading the book he got from the library. He turns the page, only half paying attention to the words. 

A small note is written in the margins in blue ink. 

_ Who would you be? _

It’s rather cryptic and quite out there, but Farquaad actually stops and thinks about it. 

Who would he be? 

“I guess I'd be a farmer, with long rows of fields, many flower yields, a hoe within my hand,” Farquaad sings softly, a melody blossoming inside his head. 

“Or else I'd play the trumpet, and make a lot of music, tunes therapeutic, in a big loud band.” Farquaad stands, getting into the song. 

“I'd run away, I'd tour the world, I'd reach the highest notes. I'd make a song, I'd taste performance joy and play a tune that floats. That's who I'd be. That's who I'd be!”

Farquaad throws open the door to his balcony. Leaning over the banister, he continues to sing. “I wish I could be normal and have a different story. One that makes things better, and wipes away the pain.”

A single tear sparks at the corner of his eye, but he stalwartly ignores it. 

“One that is light hearted, one I should be telling. In a garden I’d be dwelling, and I’d have a husband.”

“I’d make it right, I’d keep them safe, and change all the things I’ve done. I'd heal scars, erase the marks from burns, yes I’d help everyone.”

The tune in his head turns sad. “But I must learn. But I must learn. A king musn’t sigh, a king musn’t groan, a king is in the light but truly all alone.”

Farqaad gets a burst of idea. “So yes I'd write my story, and if my wish was granted I wouldn’t be enchanted, I’d be just simple.”

“I am not a hero, I will not scale towers. I will just grow flowers, and give them all away.”

“But in the end I’m still the king, it’s overwhelming. I want a man, a common man, who I can confide in.”

Farquaad goes silent, thinking. He swears he can hear the music that accompanies his words, but it’s likely his imagination.

“We'd stand and stare, we'd speak of love, we'd feel the stars ascending. We'd share a kiss, I'd find my destiny. I'd have a happy story, just a happy story.” That’s all Farquaad wants. A story with a happy start and a happy ending. 

“I wish it would be.” The tune turns to a slight rock melody. “A big bright beautiful world,” and the music goes back to normal. “But not for me.”

A tear leaks out of Farquaad’s eye. More follow, faster and faster. “A king musn’t sigh, a king musn’t groan, a king is in the light but truly all alone.”

Farquaad feels a spark of determination. The tears still fall, but they’re slower. 

“So yes I’d write my story, and if my wish was granted I wouldn’t be enchanted, I’d be just simple. For I am not a hero and I will not scale towers, I will grow flowers and give them all away. 

A perfect happy ending, that's how... it should be!” Farquaad holds the last note out, again swearing he can hear music. 

The wind picks up, all but forcing Farquaad inside. 

Behind Farquaad, a single pink carnation petal blows by. 

~~~

The next morning, Farquaad picks at his breakfast. Something feels off. Like someone is is missing.

If that makes any sense at all. Farquaad doesn’t know, he spent the night tossing and turning instead of sleeping. A certain dancer spent the night in his thoughts, spinning and singing, around and around. 

It’s driving Farquaad insane. The way his mind tantalizingly holds out the promise of the love he cannot have. Oh, if only he had had the foresight to not expel those who are what he is. 

Farquaad sighs heavily, putting his face in his hands. Why does life have to be so karmatic? Is that even a word? He stands up and leaves the dining hall.

His knights bring him the news from around the kingdom and beyond. The war between the kingdoms of Amaris and Cresuria continues, although Cresuria creeps closer to winning every week. The elderly king of Qimitor died two weeks back- stabbed in the butt- the funeral is in a month. A half dozen mages were killed yesterday in the Western Duloc mountains. 

Farquaad’s not sure how he feels about that last bit of news. Usually, he’d be delighted that everything was going according to plan- but he just can’t bring himself to be happy about it.

Distractedly, he wanders about the castle. He eventually finds himself in the deepest part of his vast greenhouse. Among the rows and clusters of flowers, a pond full of lotus flowers sits. A small waterfall trickles into the pond.

It’s one of Farquaad’s favorite places to go and simply think. He sits on one of the rocks making up the side of the pond and stares out at the flowers. 

The flowers say nothing in return, letting him think. 

“Thelonious?” Farquaad calls out. The bodyguard crashes through the greenery to stand at Farquaad’s side. 

“Yes, my lord?”

“Sit down.” Farquaad says, pointing at the rock next to him. 

Thelonious sits. 

“Have you ever wondered how I came to be the lord?” Farquaad asks.

Thelonius shakes his head. 

Farquaad takes a breath and begins to tell his story. 

~~~

“My mother was the beloved princess of Duloc. Princess Pea. She could have had any nobleman’s son in the kingdom, any prince from beyond. But she chose my father- Grumpy. King Pea disowned her, so her and my father ran off together to Eloan, the mining town. 

When I was seven, my mother died. My father died a month later. I couldn’t take a job in the mines at my age, with my size, so I packed up a few things and joined up with the Merry Men. 

They took me in, but I became their slave. I was small enough to fit in all the tight spaces, so I was forced to raid with them. Castles and manors, yes, but also the fairy huts, elven towns, everything. I cooked, I cleaned, once I was old enough, I even tortured. I did everything perfectly without complaining- because the alternative was worse. 

Robin and his gang would practice their torture on me. Leave me in the woods at night. Tie me to trees. Blunt arrows. Starving me. Dull swords. The exorcisms. Theyy threw rocks. They hit me at random. I was the punching bag. They never called me my name. Only midget and dwarf. They ridiculed me, told me I was worthless, broke me down and mocked me. I still have marks where they burnt me, scars where they cut me.

When I was seventeen, I snuck out of the camp. It was midwinter in Eastern Paliana. I knew I had to get to Duloc, so I left from there. It was then or never- we were going on to Sakara in the spring. So I left with my knife, scraps of old armor, a bit of food, a coin, and Robin’s dress robes. Snuck out from where they had left me. 

It took me almost a year to get to Duloc. A long year of trekking through mountains and forests. I slowly gathered a band of followers along the way. Almost a hundred and fifty people were along with me. Sure, we had pillaged a few small towns along the way, but we needed food and armor. We killed some fairytypes, but they were in our way, and we did it humanely. I wasn’t going to be like Robin, I wasn’t. I wouldn’t enjoy the torturing like he did. 

We got to Duloc a week before my eighteenth birthday. I marched right up to the castle and demanded the throne. By then, King Pea was almost dead anyway, so when I slit his throat and took the crown, I felt nothing. 

I was crowned on my birthday. If you could call it being crowned- I am but a lord. And so I started my quest to make Duloc pure. After I did so I could find a princess and be the perfect king with the perfect kingdom.

Then I started torturing. Just for a bit of information. Then it became less of a chore, something I subconsciously enjoyed. 

Before I knew it, I was enjoying torturing the creatures I had captured. I had shoved Robin and his gang so far back that they were resurfacing against the back of my mind. A damn wave. 

And then he kissed me. 

In the Merry Men, Robin would personally torture and execute anyone that he found out was gay. And not the simple tortures. The ones he never let anyone see. They didn’t get the honor of dying slowly. You could hear their screams for a week until finally Robin would come back and we would leave. Even then, you could hear the echoes. 

I thought that those men were villains. I was never told otherwise until Saian told me that they were just gay. So I connected the gay with the torture, and made them the villains. 

So I banished all of them from my perfect kingdom. They were bad to me and they didn’t deserve to be in my wonderful, perfect place. 

And then he kissed me, and I wanted more. I’ve kissed girls, and none of them ever made me feel like that. I’d only just met him and yet. After he ran off, it’s like another pair of eyes opened. I see the horrible things I’ve done. The innocent people, the innocent creatures. I don’t know what to do.”

~~~

The greenhouse plants rustle. Farquaad swears he sees a face behind one of the plants, but nothing is there.

“Maybe you could tell him.” 

“Maybe,” Farquaad says, “maybe.”

~~~

At noon, Farquaad grimaces his through his song and dance. Somehow, it doesn’t feel sincere anymore. 

Sawyer avoids Farquaad’s gaze the whole time, his grin both forced-looking and sad. 

~~~

His early afternoon is spent in meetings with his council of advisors. What to do with the Eastern mountain pass, what to do with the witch resistance, wage minimums for mine workers. When he took over the kingdom, he didn’t think he’d spend this much time in meetings.

He pushes open the door of meeting room C, his files in hand. Another thing he had no idea about- the sheer amount of paperwork. 

His head is down as he turns the corner. So it’s really no surprise that he bumps into someone. 

It wouldn’t be so bad, except the person he bumped into is Sawyer. 

Sawyer Raines, cute Sawyer, wonderful dancer and human being in general Sawyer. And now they’re both on the ground, papers everywhere. 

“Sorry,” Farquaad squeaks, hurrying to pick up the files on the ground. 

“No, it’s my fault,” Sawyer says, scrambling to help. They both reach for the same paper, their hands touching. Farquaad looks up into Sawyer’s eyes, then quickly averts his eyes, blushing.

Farquaad catches movement in the corner of his eye. Looking up, he sees Sawyer standing up and turning away. 

“Wait,” he says, a slight hint of desperation hinting into his voice. An idea pops into head- no, it’s too long of a shot. But maybe- “Were you in the greenhouse this morning?”

Sawyer stops. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. Farquaad had his suspicions before, but they’re confirmed now.

Farquaad stands up. “When words fail, what will I do?” he sings softly. An obscure tradition he researched yesterday, an even longer shot. Sung occasionally by a pining lover, within earshot of the person in question, as to drop a hint. Hopefully Sawyer knows this one.

“When words fail, how will he know how I feel.

When words fail, will I fail too?”

Sawyer turns around, an unreadable expression on his face. Farquaad’s face is flushed so much it feels like it might burst into flames. His stomach flutters nervously. 

A tidal wave of emotions washes over his mind as a gentle, solid force presses against his lips. Tears threaten to spill out of Farquaad’s eyes, barely clinging on in the corners. One of Sawyer’s hands fiddles with Farquaad’s hair, the other comes to rest on his shoulder. Something clicks inside Farquaad’s heart,  _ this is right _ .

When they finally separate, Farquaad is breathless and speechless. 

Eventually, he finds enough words to pull together a coherent thought. 

“Sawyer?”

“Yes?”

“I, well, I’m, um, I love you.”

Sawyer smiles. “I love you too.”

~~~

Farquaad wakes feeling like he should be excited about something. Yet as he lays awake in Sawyer’s arms, he cannot remember what it is. 

The sun shines through the stained glass windows above Farquaad’s bed, throwing colored light over the couple.

Sawyer stirs behind Farquaad. “Good morning, b-”

The rest of his sentence is cut off by a loud banging that could only have come from someone beating down the front door. 

Farquaad leaps out of bed, pulling on armor and retrieving his sword in seconds flat.

“Woah,” Sawyer breathes. “That was cool.”

“Shh!” Farquaad hisses. “We might be under attack.” He slowly opens the chamber door. 

Thelonious is the only person outside. “You’re up early, my lord.”

“Didn’t someone beat down the door?” Farquaad asks in bewilderment. 

“It was but the ogre Shrek, who bears good news. Your princess is just outside of Duloc, but an hour’s ride away.”

Farquaad puts his sword back in its scabbard. “Then we must be going. I must fix up my armour, then we shall be off.” He closes the chamber door, turning back towards his bed. 

Sawyer is mostly awake. His hair sticks up in the back, so Farquaad runs his hand through it to smooth it down. 

“Stop,” Sawyer says. Farquaad freezes. 

“Stop what?” Farquaad asks.

“Stop pretending that we can still be this way.” 

To Farquaad, it feels like a weight just dropped on his chest. “Why?”

“You’re going to marry the princess, likely tomorrow. I can’t stay with you. It’s wrong.” Sawyer changes into his regular clothes. “Go get ‘em, tiger,” he says sadly, straightening Farquaad’s shoulder armour before leaving. 

Someone knocked the carnation’s vase over. The flower sits wilted in a puddle on the table. Farquaad picks it up. The stem is not brittle yet, but it’s certainly getting there. 

Farquaad cuts off the stem entirely and tucks the flower into a small part of his armor right near his heart. Grabbing 

~~~

"Maximus! Wait!" Sawyer runs into Farquaad's chambers, his hair whipping around his face. 

"What is it? Can't you see I'm about to be married?" Farquaad snaps. 

"It's important, it really is."

"Then what is it?"

"Do you really love Fiona?"

Farquaad freezes in the middle of adjusting his crown. Does he love her? Or is he marrying her for her princess status, to hide his identity? He knows the answer, but he doesn't want to admit it. 

No words pass between them but none need to be said. Sawyer knows, somehow he always knows.

"Then why are you marrying her? Is it that she's a princess? So you can be king?"

Farquaad does not answer. The truth has already been told. Sawyer would be Farquaad’s, but two small things stand in his way. Sawyer is a man, a common man at that. Fiona is the opposite of both, making her the perfect bride.

Sawyer sees the pain in Farquaad’s eyes, takes Farquaad's hand in his. "Then why are you marrying her if there is no love? Being an unhappy king is so much worse than being a happy lord."

"You're right." Just like always, Sawyer is right. "But there are so many complications. The wedding is in only an hour, not to mention the fact that we couldn't be happy together. It's illegal, I decreed it myself! What do I do?"

"I'll admit it's a mess. But the first thing to do is to call off your wedding to Fiona."

"Now?”

“Now. In fact, Thelonious is just outside. Tell him to deliver the message.”

Farquaad nods. “Thelonious!” he calls out.

“Yes, my lord?”

Farquaad takes off his crown, turning it over in his hands. He can’t make eye contact with either of them, not right now. Not when he faces the most difficult choice of his life. Between safety and a mediocre life, full of falsitudes and guilt, or changing everything he’s ever known, putting everything he takes for granted in jeopardy. Changing his life, maybe finally for the better. 

It’s really an easy choice.

“Call off the wedding.” 

If Thelonious is surprised, he hides it well. “Consider it done, my lord,” he says, hurrying out of the room.

“If it’s any consolation, Maximus, you made the right choice,” Sawyer says gently.

“How could either choice be right?”

“Fiona...loves Shrek.”

“Who’s Shrek?”

“The ogre. Did no one tell you about the curse?”

“The curse?”

“Fiona turns into an ogre at midnight.”

“...Oh. Then she’ll be a perfect match for him, I suppose. But what do I do about everything else? How do make amends? How do I change laws, bring back the people and creatures I've expelled? How do I change the things I've done?"

"Well, that's easy," a voice calls out from below. 

"Who said that?" Sawyer says, startled. 

"Me!"

"Who's me?" Farquaad asks. 

"Look down. No, down here. Farther." 

Farquaad sees a hand waving just below the horizon. 

"Yeah, but who are you?" Sawyer asks. 

"I'm Clara. I'm playing flute and piccolo and alto sax and bari sax for y'all to dance merrily to."

"We have a band?" Farquaad whispers to Sawyer.

"Pit orchestra. I met them on my first day. They're cool."

"How many people are down there with you?" Farquaad calls out to Clara.

"Uhhhhhh," Farquaad can hear muffled counting, "Thirteen. But that's besides the point. You've expelled all the fairytale creatures from Duloc, and if we've interpreted your song and dance correctly, you've also probably expelled anyone LGBT, probably a fair few people of color, anyone that isn't perfect, and most anyone that disagreed with any of your rules. Also you torture and execute people. Which, by the way, that's ridiculous."

"It's called a dictatorship!" a second voice pipes up.

"Sam. We went over this. It's a monarchy." Clara says.

"He's not a king! And we can assume that by the fact that his dad was a miner, that he took over the power by force. Dictatorship! You'll back me up, right Lucas?"

"Technically, there would have to have been two generations of the Farquaad family in power to make it a monarchy, as monarchies are hereditary positions of power," another voice, presumably Lucas, chimes in. “Of course, Princess Pea gave up her royal status to marry Grumpy, so although Farquaad technically could be considered of royal descent, he is not. Princess Pea gave up her right to the throne, so Farquaad is a first-generation royal, therefore there is no monarchy.”

"Still doesn't make it any less awful," Clara says. 

"I know it's ridiculous and awful." Farquaad interrupts. "Which is why I want to change it. How do that, preferably without tanking my reputation?"

"Well, that's gonna be impossible. No way you're gonna come out smelling like roses."

"Then how do I at least change things?"

“Got a notebook on hand?”

Farquaad picks up a pad of paper and pen from his table.

"Alright. Here goes. Bring everyone back. Change all the discriminatory laws. Change the stupid ones too. Cut all the narcissistic crap. You're not the center of the universe. Oh, and this one's gonna hurt- democracy." Farquaad rapidly scribbles down each idea. 

"What's that?"

"You'll want a representative democracy, where the people elect other citizens in elections. The elected citizens then have all the power."

"So I'm just giving power away?"

"Yeah, basically. You can still be a figurehead lord, but beyond that? No power for you. Also, get your face off everything.”

“That it?”

“Nope. Rework the justice system so it’s truly fair. And education and healthcare need work, likely. Get some positive focus on your lower classes and minorities.”

"So, I gotta be less self centered, change almost everything, and give away the power away. Is that all?"

"Yep. Pretty much in that order. Also one more thing. Stay in the closet for a few years."

"Wait, so I have to do this all from inside a closet? Sounds cramped." 

"The gay closet, dumbnuts. If you go changing all those laws then announce that you're gay like the next week, you're so gonna get bashed as a hypocrite."

"Oh. Wait, how do I do all this?"

“I dunno, I’ve never built an entire democracy from the flames of a dictatorship-slash-monarchy before. I have full faith in you. Truly try to make the kingdom of Duloc a better place. We’ll be rooting for you.”

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome. Any last questions?”

“I don’t think so...wait. When did you guys even come up with this?”

“Tacet,” the pit collectively groans. 

“What’s that?”

Nobody answers. “Guys, what’s tacet?” Farquaad asks, a slight amount of desperation creeping into his voice. “Don’t leave me hanging!”

“The pit chooses who and what they answer,” Sawyer says behind Farquaad.

“It’s not the tacet. I don’t care what tacet means. I can’t do this on my own, and they seem to have it figured out,” Farquaad says, slumping into a chair. 

“Hey, I know it’s going to be hard. But you gotta remember, not many people have this big of an opportunity to make the world this much better. I know you have it in you. It’s your time to make Duloc a better place- for everyone this time,” Sawyer says, laying a hand on Farquaad’s shoulder. 

Farquaad looks up, determination in his eyes. 

“Then let’s get started.”

~~~

The small chapel is almost overwhelmed by the sheer amount of flowers. Dark pink roses, baby’s breath, and ranunculus fill the vases upon vases of flowers. The flowers do little to mask the scent of the two ogres in the third row, but no one minds. This occasion is too perfect to let something like that get in the way of the happy couple. 

Of course, the two men at the front each wear a boutonniere of pink carnations. 

“Now by the powers vested in me by God and the Duloc Republic, I pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss,” the priest says, closing his leather-bound book. Sir Maximus Farquaad smiles broadly, tears of joy brimming from his eyes. 

His new husband kisses him softly with slightly chapped lips that taste subtly of blackberries.

**Author's Note:**

> I also wrote cursed GruxVector fanfic if you wanna read that pile of hot garbage
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/20739365
> 
> (at least I only spent like an hour and a half on that one instead of like three weeks)


End file.
